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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261512">Stop</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whattheelizabeth/pseuds/whattheelizabeth'>whattheelizabeth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Not a romance fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whattheelizabeth/pseuds/whattheelizabeth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels like crying. It’s only been a couple seconds but it feels like an eternity.</p><p>“Katara?”</p><p>She can’t move. Sokka is still right there. Her chest is so tight it feels like it’s about to burst. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. </p><p> <br/>|| Katara has an anxiety attack</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know quarantine fics are out of fashion, but this isn't so much a quarantine fic as it is one about anxiety during a pandemic. Be warned, it does describe anxiety and an anxiety attack in detail, so read with caution if that might trigger you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Shit, I just touched the handle. I have to wash my hands again.</em>
</p><p>Katara pauses for a second, acutely aware of her hand on the handle of the refrigerator. She just washed her hands; she meant to close the door with her hip, but now she’s touched it. She needs to wash her hands. Katara shuts the refrigerator door and immediately turns on the sink. She waits for a couple minutes, the water growing hotter every time she runs her hand under it, until it’s steaming a bit. She puts her hands under the water, making a face as it burns her slightly, before pumping some soap into her palm. Only a little bit though, pressing down the pump just enough to get a pea sized blob. After going through five bottles of soap in the first month of quarantine, Aang had suggested she use smaller amounts, so they didn’t go through as much.</p><p>Katara scrubs her hands. First, her palms. 1-2-3-4-5. Next, her fingers, each one individually to make sure she doesn’t miss a spot. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. Then, the back of her hands. 1-2-3-4-5. She needs to wash her fingers again, just to make sure she didn’t miss a spot. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. But now she has to wash the backs of her hands because that’s the order. 1-2-3-4-5. She wants to start the sequence over, she’s sure she missed a spot, but she knows she washed her hands thoroughly; it’s been over 20 seconds. So, ignoring her sense of dread that she missed <em>something</em>, she scrubs the tips of her fingers against her palms, so vigorously that the dead skin scrapes off under her nails. She winces once more as she puts her hands under the hot water, and she dries them on the towel, the back of the towel though because she knows Aang dries his hands on the front.</p><p>“Sweetie!” Aang calls from the living room. “You good in there?”</p><p>Katara picks up the container of nuts with her right hand, slipping it under her arm and grabbing her cup with the same hand. She leaves her left hand hanging at her side; she can’t touch anything with it or she’ll have to wash her hands all over again. They’re already cracked and dry despite the lotion she’s been putting on regularly.</p><p>When Katara reaches the couch, she sets down her cup on an end table and curls up next to Aang, wordlessly passing the nuts to him. He opens it, glancing at her briefly before holding the container out to her. Katara knows he can tell something is up, but he’s waiting for her to bring it up. She uses her left hand to grab a few nuts and pops them into her mouth. She’ll talk to him in a bit, but for now Katara just wants to get lost in the movie.</p><p>She gets so lost in the movie that she grabs some nuts with her right hand. She freezes. She touched the container and the cup with this hand. She can’t eat these. It’s probably fine, but she <em>can’t</em>. She can’t risk it, the slight possibility she could get infected.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Katara says to Aang as she gets up from the couch, nuts clenched in her right hand.</p><p>Katara knows she should tell Aang, he would be understanding, and it would help ease her mind to not pretend everything is fine. The problem is that logically, she knows she’s overreacting, and she feels like if she tells Aang, it’ll help her not overreact, but then she won’t be as careful, which could lead to her getting sick, or even worse, getting infected and unknowingly getting Aang sick.</p><p>Katara opens the trash can and throws out the handful of nuts. While she’s in the kitchen, she should wash her hands again. The water isn’t scalding this time; she doesn’t have the patience to wait for it and she didn’t touch a lot since the last time she washed her hands. Besides, this wash is more of a touch up. Palms, 1-2-3-4-5. Fingers, 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5. Back of hands, 1-2-3-4-5. And fingertips. She dries her hands on the back of the towel. Katara goes back to the living room and curls up by Aang. She doesn’t want to think right now; she wishes all this would just be over already.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Aang! Get dressed, Sokka is going to be here soon!” Katara calls down the hall to their bedroom.</p><p>It’s Katara’s birthday today, and Sokka is coming over for a family dinner. The others would have come too, but they were busy, and frankly, Katara knew she’d be overwhelmed by so many people in her and Aang’s apartment, even if they were social distancing. Plus, she's still on edge about Sokka coming over. She has no logical reason to be, but the mere fact that he <em>could</em> be infected and he wouldn’t even know makes her anxious.</p><p>“Aang!” Katara calls again, tapping her foot against the floor. Whether that was impatiently or anxiously, she couldn’t tell.</p><p>“Coming!”</p><p>Before Aang could finish getting dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Katara’s chest tightens, and she feels a rush of panic. She could just tell Sokka she isn’t feeling well, or Aang isn’t feeling well, or that they need to reschedule. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. It would just avoid the inevitable interaction with someone other than Aang. She’ll just stay six feet away; it’ll be fine. She takes a deep breath, imagining the tension releasing from her chest, and opens the door.</p><p>“Hey Sokka,” she says as she steps back to let him in.</p><p>“Katara!” Sokka steps toward her, arms out.</p><p>The next few seconds feel like ages. Katara moves back a step, but Sokka doesn't seem to get the message. He still advances, beaming, holding his arms out. Her vision tunnels, her senses go on high alert. She backs up frantically, her arms out in front of her.</p><p><em>Stop. <strong>Stop</strong></em>. Her heart races and her thoughts run a mile a minute. <em>Why is he still coming toward me? Does he not see me backing away? He can’t come any closer. <strong>STOP</strong></em>.</p><p>She runs into the table. It’s barely a foot away from where she was standing before. Katara turns her head away from Sokka, blocking her face with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, holding her breath like it’ll help stop Sokka’s potentially infected breath from entering her lungs. She feels like crying. It’s only been a couple seconds but it feels like an eternity.</p><p>“Katara?”</p><p>She can’t move. Sokka is still right there. Her chest is so tight it feels like it’s about to burst. She can’t think. She can’t breathe.</p><p>A hand touches her shoulder.</p><p>The few muscles that weren’t already tense become rigid.</p><p>“Katara, it’s me.”</p><p>It’s Aang. It’s Aang, not Sokka.</p><p>Katara turns and clings to Aang, burying her face in his shoulder. Aang wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.</p><p>Tears slip from Katara’s eyes. She can’t help it. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut. She just wants to stay here, safe in Aang’s arms; she doesn’t want to think about what just happened.</p><p>Aang rubs slow circles on her back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers in her ear.</p><p>His shirt is bunched in her hands; his shoulder is soaked. She can’t stop crying. She’d been holding so much tension she didn’t even realize, and now that she’s started crying, she just wants to let it all out. Aang keeps rubbing those soothing circles on her back, content to hold her for as long as she needs.</p><p>After a few minutes, she’s empty; there’s no more tears. Katara lifts her face from Aang’s shoulder, his hand pauses on her back.</p><p>“Katara…” Sokka starts from the other side of Aang. “I- I’m sorry.”</p><p>She gives him a tired smile. “It’s not your fault.”</p><p>It wasn’t. He’d just wanted to hug his sister on her birthday, how was he supposed to know she would have such a reaction? And as soon as he realized she was uncomfortable, he stopped. It was just that in those seconds before, Katara had felt like she was dying.</p><p>Katara looks to Aang's face and sees his brows furrowed in the way they do when he’s concerned. She gives him a look. <em>We’ll talk about this later</em>.</p><p>She will talk to him about it later. Katara is done keeping this to herself, regardless of whether telling Aang will make her less cautious and put her at risk. She can’t keep living in this constant state of fear and anticipation of the worst happening. Telling Aang won’t magically solve everything, she won’t suddenly stop being anxious, but she knows it will relieve some of her anxiety to have someone to talk to. She doesn’t want what happened just now to happen again. She should probably go to therapy, too. After all, who knows when this pandemic will be over; she needs to learn to live with it.</p><p>Right now, all Katara wants to do is sleep and forget about her troubles, but she feels better now that she cried out all her stress, and she hasn’t seen her brother in ages. Plus, it’s her birthday, revelations and deep conversations can wait until tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this fic might be out of character and the ending isn't really satisfying, but if you read this, thank you! Also, here's <a href="https://whattheelizabeth.tumblr.com/">my tumblr</a> if that interests anyone</p></blockquote></div></div>
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